Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88218 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88218 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“Nope,” Harley says. “It’s all or nothing. That’s what we’ve all agreed to.”
“Then it’s nothing. Sorry you wasted a trip, but you can turn around and go right back to the airport.”
I spin on my heel and go to march inside, when I hear a voice. A distinct, croaky, upset voice. My back stiffens. I know exactly who it is without needing to turn around.
“Mase? Please hear Harley out.”
I look back over my shoulder. Denver stands there looking nothing like the guy who abandoned me in a hotel room and hasn’t spoken to me since. His hair is no longer shaggy like it once was. It’s cut short and styled on top. His baby face is still young-looking, though the bags under his eyes and his tired expression age him some.
“So you’re the one who sold me out,” I say. It wasn’t Cash at all.
“I …” Denver’s mouth closes.
“I don’t want to hear what Harley has to say. The only person I need an explanation from is you.” I spin back around, and this time I get to the door before that damn voice stops me again.
“I’m sorry,” Denver calls out.
What for? For running away after he kissed me, for fucking up our friendship, or for ignoring my calls for months, and then not being there for me when I actually needed someone.
I remember sitting in my mansion in Palos Verdes, overlooking the water, and thinking, This is how my career in Hollywood ends. And who was there for me? Absolutely no one.
With Harley, Ryder, and Blake, it stung. From the person who had been my best friend for seven years, it was soul-crushing.
And because why? Why did he ghost me? Because he was going through an identity crisis? Did he really think I would hate him for kissing me? I want him to be happy and comfortable in his own skin. I would’ve been there for him to work through it all, but no. He didn’t want me there. Apparently, rejecting his kiss and wanting to talk about it was too much for him.
I haven’t decided if I actually want to hear him out or not when I sense him behind me.
“I know this has been a long time coming,” he says, his voice low. “And if Harley hadn’t dragged me here, I’d probably still be ignoring it.”
I scoff. “Good to know you’re only doing this because Harley forced you to.”
“No, that’s not what I meant. Please, can I … can we come in?”
I make the mistake of turning and looking into his unnaturally aqua eyes. I don’t want to give in—I’m mad at each and every one of them—but for the first time in over two years, Denver is in front of me, and I have always been ridiculously bad at saying no to him.
He’s the youngest of us all, and I’m the oldest. I’ve always felt protectiveness toward him.
“We’re going to go get hangover food,” Harley calls out where he still waits by the car. I get the sense he wanted to move closer, but his bodyguard’s beefy hand is wrapped around his arm, stopping him. “You two talk your shit out, and when we get back, we’re all having a serious conversation.”
Maybe it’s time we bury the hatchet, but I don’t know if I’m ready.
Harley takes it out of our hands by getting in the car and backing out the drive, leaving a terrified Denver on my doorstep.
“Come inside.” If I don’t take this opportunity, I might not get another one.
Chapter Five
Denver
Mason looks … insanely different. Gone is the smooth square jaw and cleft chin. Gone is the short hair. Gone is the lanky, skinny guy I once knew, replaced by this huge mountainous man with a dark beard and hair that sits below his chin. His arms are thick, his chest is bigger, and his face and stomach are rounder. If it weren’t for his expressive brown eyes, I would’ve thought some random man was pretending to be my best friend.
Ex-best friend.
I follow him inside the insane mansion he calls home. It’s an amazing wood-and-stone structure, and when there’s snow everywhere, it looks like a picturesque ski resort.
Inside is exactly the same as the last time I was here. Soft, plush couch in front of a stone fireplace. Hall to the right leading to guest rooms. Stairs to the left leading to more bedrooms.
Sitting at the informal dining table is Mason’s mom, and even that feels the same.
Mason’s outward appearance may be drastically different, but I get the distinct impression nothing else has changed.
Mason’s mom stands. “It’s been so long.” She approaches me and hugs me in a way only a mother can. Or, grandmother in my case. Fuck, I miss my nanna.
“Way too long, Mrs. Nash,” I say.
“Mom, can you give us a few minutes?” Mason asks.